The Light at the End of the Tunnel
by Wolf-Enthusiast
Summary: No matter what he does, America cannot stop his oncoming panic attack. (UKUS, TW: Panic Attacks, and mentions of 9/11)


Oh, how he wished he hadn't turned on the news. Alfred could feel _it_ coming on. There was no way he could calm himself down. Just because _these_ were frequent doesn't mean he has gotten used to _them_ , or that he can control _them_. Why couldn't _they_ just leave him alone? To his awful demise, Alfred had woken up that morning and absentmindedly turned on the news channel. His lovely home in New York sported a breathtaking view of Lady Liberty. Obviously, this is not what caused his oncoming panic attack, however the news story most certainly did. He had only wanted to know what was going on in his land of the free, and home of the brave!

To others' surprise, The United States of America was not ignorant and uncaring as they believe. He cares completely about his country- even if headaches and awful fatigue plague him most of the time. His peers' words cut like hot daggers in exposed flesh. Emotional wounds haunt Alfred, and unfortunately mental scars are slower to heal than physical.

Al's heartbeat quickened with great pace. He was absolutely terrified to be quite honest, and he had a right to be. The ISIS terrorist threats had been increasing lately. Now, as he listened to the news lady, he finds out another citizen, a man from Ohio- his own glorious state, has been training in Syria and came back to harm Americans. He was so very stressed. Other nations like Isreal and the Italies had come to him, saying he needed to fix what the terrorists are doing. This was not new, after all. Everyone always came to him when they needed assistance, not considering the stress he was already in. That's why he called himself a hero: not because he felt like one, but because he was always given responsibilities to fix the world's messes.

Alfred started to feel sick. He had already known a lot of his citizens hated him, but to betray their brothers and sisters of freedom? He could feel another painful slice on his mental state. Betrayal was one of his worst fears, for it hurt the most in his opinion. To put your trust and love in someone and have them throw it away was heartbreaking. His breathing began to pick up as well.

 _Arthur, he needed_ _Arthur._

Arthur was one of the only living things that could calm poor Alfred down. The only other living entity is his older brother, Matthew. Yes, they could both calm him with great immensity, but Arthur was his favorite. (With no offense to his dear brother, but he loved his Artie, his boyfriend.) Now, Alfred had fallen off the couch, and rolled up in a fetal position. His breathing and heartbeat were at erratic speeds, and tiny sobs escaped his trembling lips. His intense shaking could have been mistaken for shivering, but he was not cold. He sounded so pathetic and helpless like a small newborn pup, but there was nothing he could do.

Tears flowed down his now pale face, and sobs racked his body. Fear had his mind trapped like a small bird in a cage- a cage with no light and very suffocating.

 _He_ needed _Arthur._

His attack was reaching its climax, but he himself could not yet see the light at the end of the tunnel. His fingernails found his wrists like a prowling snake, and bit down with no mercy. A few droplets of crimson found their way to the creamy surface. More fear surrounded Alfred now, he hadn't had a panic attack like this one since that fateful day in September. Several years suddenly disappeared, and it felt like just yesterday that he had seen his beautiful citizens drop like mere flies. That couldn't happen again, he would not let them harm his lovely residents anymore.

 _But they could, right under your nose- just like that day. They've already done so many awful things without your knowing beforehand, why not now?_

Alfred screamed in anguish, no matter what he did, he could not possibly calm himself down. His mind was mostly his own worst enemy, but also one of his greatest allies. The small droplets turned into a tiny puddle on his carpet. The stinging could not be felt, the fear and irregularities around his vessel were distracting him from the small pains in his wrists. His throat burned with bile as he vomited the contents of his stomach out. His shaking hands flew to his head. He could hear it now, hear those desperate cries to the heavens. He could hear the deafening crashing and destruction that those terrorists caused. His lungs felt hot with ash like the day he was reliving.

 _It could happen again._

He screamed again with much more desperation this time. Why of all times was he alone when his worst panic attack in a decade took place? His ahoge drooped but shook fiercely to match his mood. The sounds of the opening and closing of a door flew over his head, nor did he hear his name being called. Footsteps grew closer. Gentle hands stroked his back, and moved him onto a warm lap. Alfred moved his arms to death grip this new entity's torso. His nose filled with his favorite scent, but still did not register the identity. He finally had something to hold in his prison of fear and panic. Calming whispers filled his ears like a sweet summer lullaby. The tears began to slow, and he tried to stop sobbing.

After about five minutes, his breathing and heartbeat started to normalize, but he dared not lessen his grip on his savior's body. He never wanted to let go, even if he still didn't know who was there yet. The hand petting his back moved to run its fingers through his golden hair, careful not to touch his cowlick. His breathing now was consistent and normal, but his heartbeat could use some work. After all, it's not easy to break free from your very own Hell. His shaking had also not ceased, but the tears and sobs had stopped, starting to dry. Whimpers also still slipped occasionally.

"That's right, you're okay now, love. You're okay, I got you. Everything is going to be alright."

He knew that voice, and it soothed his broken soul. His fear was slowly being replaced by relief and undying love. Even though the dangers of the world was still existent, Alfred trusted the thick accented voice with all of his heart, mind, and body. He believed now he would be okay. The familiar lips of his beloved showered soft kisses to his forehead: an action he cherished so much, just like the owner. His violent shaking died down to nothingness, and his heartbeat slowed as well.

 _He'd be okay._

Alfred heard his world begin to sing in his ear, like sweet honey to the taste buds. The savior may not have been the best of singers, but he was to Alfred. Alfred thought everything about him was perfect, and everything about him was amazing. The hands, rough from their many, many years of conflict and war, started rocking the younger nation like he had many decades ago. The owner of the hands always glorified the times when he got to do this. These moments were special to the both of them, and both of them favored these moments. Alfred's savior was his comfort through the storm, his prevailing light at the end of a dark tunnel.

His mind and soul were finally at ease. America knew he would get through this. After all-

 ** _Arthur told him he would._**


End file.
